


Waiting to Exhale

by fencer_x



Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: Takano watches Ritsu sleep after sex. (takes place in volume 5, but no major spoilers and doesn't require having read the volume)





	Waiting to Exhale

He didn't like to whine, but Masamune had been through a lot of shit in his life.

His parents had been at each other's throats long before the word "divorce" had even entered the conversation, and between their constant bickering and being left in charge of his own well-being, it was a wonder he didn't just set off on his own and start making his way in the world before they managed to pull their respective heads from their own asses. Add to all that drama the fact that he wasn't even blood relation to the man he'd called his father all these years, and it was all too easy to shed the name _Saga_ and take up _Takano_ as a new mantle. Even if he'd inherited it from his mother, it felt _new_ and _original_ enough that he was justified in reinventing himself.

Unfortunately, that reinvention hit a few snags along the way—mired in the murky swamp that was his first year of university before Yokozawa did what he did best and jerked him back to his senses. After that everything started hurting a little less day by day, until eventually even the roiling sickness in his stomach that came whenever anyone mentioned the word _fiancee_ faded to a dull throbbing nausea and then _nothing_. Just cool, calm indifference and a dedication to getting a job done quickly and efficiently and ruthlessly well.

He'd been through a _lot_ of shit.

But Ritsu was worth it all a dozen times over.

Masamune smiled into the pillow, a genuine _giddy_ smile that felt foreign on his lips when not laced with sarcasm or a biting jab. He'd never been in Onodera's house, let alone his bed, but...he could definitely get used to it, he decided.

The morning sun was warm on his bare back where it filtered in through the thin curtains Onodera had draped across his balcony sliding door, and he shivered lightly from the bits of himself that were shaded in shadow, trying not to move too much or risk rousing his bedmate. Cracking one eye open and being sure to keep his breathing even, he watched Onodera calmly, silently, enjoying these few moments of peace that would soon be but a pleasant memory a few hours from now.

He hadn't meant to barge into Onodera's apartment like he had; as intense as he could be in his advances when it came to the guy, Masamune respected his privacy to some extent and had no intentions of violating the forty or fifty square meters he called home with his presence until so invited. But...he'd been desperate, and a little buzzed from the party, and that pretty little fiancee had dragged from Onodera the kinds of bold admissions Masamune would have _killed_ to have Onodera say to _him_.

He wished, all those years ago, that he'd bottled up all those freely offered " _I love you_ "s so that he could properly appreciate them now. The thought that he very well might never hear such a straightforward, honest admission again from the one person he wanted to hear it most was enough to push him to take actions he'd promised himself he wouldn't. It didn't help that Onodera was as frustratingly _obliging_ as always, putting up his usual front of protests while still dutifully opening his mouth when kissed and thrusting into Masamune's hand when touched. If he'd smacked Masamune around a bit, maybe given him a good right hook to the jaw or kneed him somewhere delicate, he definitely would have backed down; he trusted he could tell when Onodera's protests were genuine and when they were just masking burgeoning feelings that he didn't want to acknowledge or covering some niggling sense of propriety and a failed attempt to maintain a proper boss-subordinate relationship.

He took a slow, deep breath, silently as possible, and let his gaze trail over the bits of Onodera still exposed—smooth skin, marked in places with love bites that Onodera would complain about later while pulling on a turtleneck sweater (what _did_ he plan to do when summer broke full force? Masamune certainly had no intentions of gentling his affections with the changing seasons), and a long, unbroken line down his back leading down to the gentle swell just above his rump where the covers maintained his modesty for now.

Masamune felt himself stir just a bit at the memory—Onodera dutifully turning round at his request, sliding into that familiar tightness, pressing himself chest-to-back against that smooth line, each thunderous beat of his heart echoing through Onodera beneath him, reminding him that Masamune was just as much if not _more_ excited by everything they did together. He wore his coat of cool confidence well, but he was willing to shed it in an instant before Onodera, eager to make him understand just how hot Masamune's blood ran for him. He loved it when Onodera watched him while they fucked, loved seeing his eyes glaze over with pleasure, his pupils dilating and his breath hot against Masamune's chest, neck, mouth—but turned around that way, pressing and pounding with animalistic passion, it was a whole new, different, _overwhelming_ experience, drawing every ounce of his strength and bodily impressing it upon Onodera as he rode out his climax.

Onodera's shoulders tensed under Masamune's gaze, and he held his breath, bracing himself, but it was just to turn over onto his stomach and rearrange himself on his pillow, face turning towards Masamune but eyes remaining closed in blissful slumber. Masamune smiled at the innocence in his face, recognizing the same unspoiled naivety he'd fallen in love with years before; moments like this were to be savored, he understood.

Just hours from now, Onodera would rouse and shriek his deep offense at finding Masamune still in his bed, roughly waking him and shoving him bodily out the door, trying desperately to reinstate some of the boundaries between them that Masamune took great pride in tearing down again and again. Masamune would make some sly comment about it being his first time in Onodera's apartment and how he was looking forward to his next visit, and Onodera would ball his hands into fists at his sides, looking like he wanted to slap or punch his superior but doing neither out of concern for his job (at least, that's how Onodera would excuse it to himself; Masamune would know it was because he was already thinking about that _next time_ ).

But right now he was quiet and calm and _open_ and honest, and if Masamune had to wait for times like this to meet _this_ Onodera, he would gladly do so. Slowly, carefully reaching out one hand, he tentatively brushed a few strands of hair falling over Onodera's face, tucking them behind his ear.

"Takano…san…"

He froze, didn't move a _muscle_ , and waited with his heart in his throat and eyes wide, not even daring to _think_ lest Onodera be roused into full consciousness and deliver his thunderous rage upon Masamune prematurely. No no no, just a _little_ longer, was that too much to ask for? He wasn't even really _touching_ the guy, wasn't doing anything forward or wrong or worthy of reproach, he just wanted to lie here and share a bed with Onodera in peace, conscious of it for once. No harsh words or brave fronts, no glares or rolled eyes or frowns or blushes, just calm and quiet and the warmth of welcome companionship.

"You…jerk…"

Masamune blinked a few times in rapid succession, unable to stifle a snort, but Onodera just snuggled further under the covers and—yes, just a bit closer to Masamune's side, too, still blissfully dead to the world.

Sliding back down slowly and scooting a bit forward so that their faces were almost touching when he lay back down, Masamune angled himself so that Onodera's body heat under the sheets flowed over him, a pulsing warmth that cocooned him in that lovely false sense of domesticity. He would take what he could get for now, even if it was simply stolen moments like this between the dream world and the waking one—until he could make his dreams come true.

God, he really _had_ been working in shoujo manga for too long, with sappy, meloromantic thoughts like that. Still, just as with so many other things…Onodera was worth it.


End file.
